Page 111

111

The world’s largest naval station, and the headquarters of the U.S. Navy’s Fleet Forces Command, is NAVSTA NORVA, or Naval Station Norfolk, a giant base of over four thousand acres in the southeast corner of Virginia. Paul had driven the three hours from D.C. without a break. Now, just outside Gate 5, he stopped at the Pass and ID office to get the one-day visitor pass that was waiting for him. He used his Grant Anderson driver’s license, praying they didn’t check criminal databases. Clearly they didn’t. The pass now hung from his rearview mirror. There was no way to get onto the base, he noted, not without handing over your ID. No one could sneak on. It was reasonably well protected.

The higher-ranking naval officers live in a neighborhood there called Breezy Point, in four-bedroom, pet-friendly single-family homes. The house he was looking for was located on Dillingham Boulevard. He found it, a handsome, if generic brick house with an attached garage and a good-size lawn. It looked like something you might see in a prosperous suburb. There were no armed guards circulating that he could see.

He parked his car in the driveway and rang the doorbell. He heard the familiar six chimes echoing throughout the house. A minute went by. He heard music thumping through the front door.

Tatyana Galkin answered the door.

He hadn’t seen her in five years. Her hair was blonder than it used to be, and she’d styled it differently—up, in a messy bun. She was as pretty as ever, though the years had etched fine lines on her face, on her forehead and around her eyes. She’d gained a little weight, and it looked great on her. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, neither his nor anyone else’s. She was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and Paul’s Reed College sweatpants, which he’d left behind. He wondered if that was a deliberate choice, knowing she was about to see him.

Her face, her eyes, were red, as if she’d been crying. He heard Taylor Swift singing something melancholy and bittersweet, probably “All Too Well.” Sarah had liked Taylor Swift a lot, too.

“Pasha,” she said, her voice hoarse.

She pushed open the screen door. He gave her a hug. She smelled the same. She hadn’t changed her perfume.

He looked around. The front sitting room was furnished with institutional-looking furniture, as generic as the house. No gilt.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

“It’s difficult for me,” she said. “Seeing you.”

He nodded as they pulled apart. She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I know you’ll never forgive me, but I still want to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he said softly.

She bowed her head, closed her eyes, shook her head again. “Don’t make this hard for me. I chose my family. You know that. But you were my family, too. I just never really understood that.”

After five years, he still felt guilty for having left her the way he had. He felt the pain of having once loved her and still loving her. He felt a swirl of emotions.

A long pause. He said, “Is your father—”

She interrupted him. “Berzin wasn’t going to kill you. I would never have gone along with that. It was a sedative. A tranquilizer.”

He shook his head. No need to revisit that day. “How—how’ve you been?” He wanted to ask if she was with someone else now, but this wasn’t the time.

“Look at the way we live.”

He looked around at the generic house with its generic furnishings and thought about what a comedown it was from Arkady Galkin’s life of extraordinary luxury.

“But it’s safe,” Paul said. “You’re protected.”

“We’re prisoners.”

Behind her, Arkady Galkin loomed into view. “Music is too much,” he told his daughter. “Turn off.” He turned to Paul as Tatyana backed away. “Brightman,” he said without a smile.

Galkin looked ten years older, not five. His potbelly was even larger. Now there were purplish circles under his eyes, which were dwarfed by his wild gray eyebrows. His face was scored with deep lines. His shoulders were stooped.

The music went quiet.